If Things Were Different
by DragonflyonBreak
Summary: Jack suffers PTSD and Pitch takes an interest in him long before the guardians ever do. Questionably healthy relationships. AU, before the start of the movie.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** I don't really know what this is. But it was fun to write.

Jack has PTSD and Pitch takes an interest in him long before the guardians ever do.

 **If Things Were Different**

* * *

His hair fluttered softly as the wind blew around him. His eyes were closed and he raised his face upwards, welcoming the gentle breeze.

It was twilight. The sound of running cars was an unlikely occurrence. There were no people here and most of the animals had long since retired to their beds, their songs and lives ceasing as the day came to its close.

The world was his.

He ruled the night – like the skies, it had become his plaything over the centuries. The weather was his to command on whatever whim he decided to indulge that day and no one in their right mind would ever try to cross him.

Freedom. It was a gift he had learned to treasure and not one he was ever willing to lose – and he'd made sure that everyone else was well aware of how highly he valued his new freedom. He would never allow anyone to take it from him. Never again would he let his life – his every action – be ruled by the sadistic desires of another.

The hand not wrapped around his staff tightened minutely at his side and for a small moment he brought it up to softly brush the old scars that were visible on his opposite arm. Phantom pains flashed for the briefest instance across his mind.

He was a loner – an outcast among an already small community. But he preferred it that way. The others saw him as an unruly season, something that needed to be _disciplined and tamed_. They simply wanted to control him, to use him, and keep him under surveillance.

But they valued their lives… and so they all eventually learned to leave him alone.

"Jack Frost." All but one.

"Pitch." Jack greeted simply, his face still turned into the wind. The dark spirit was the only one among their kind he would dare to call a friend. They were each solitary beings – Pitch was sly like a fox. Manipulative. Powerful. Dangerous.

And despite his past experiences, Jack was completely at ease in his presence.

Their relationship was based on respect. They both understood what it was like to be alone – to truly be alone – and that in itself was enough. They didn't question each other's motives – they took each other at face value and no questions were asked.

He liked that.

Pitch understood what pain – what real, torturous, _agonizing_ pain was. He understood what it did to people, how it could change someone so completely.

He understood that there were things that couldn't be fixed.

There was no pressure. No oppressive feelings of being supervised – of being observed by an opposite party that was simply waiting for him to burst his top so they could deal with the problem and be on their way.

Their relationship was friendly. And so Jack let him stay.

"Scaring children?" He asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Of course." Was the cool response. "Not here, obviously. But I find extreme pleasure in keeping people awake at night. If I can't sleep, neither shall they."

He opened his eyes to give Pitch a sideways glance. He was more of a shadow with form, not quiet tangible yet. "The children who believe in you or their parents who tell them you're not real?"

The nightmare king simply shrugged, his arms folding behind him. "Why can't it be both."

Jack hummed slightly in response. He didn't care that much about humans anymore, except as a form of temporary, fleeting entertainment. They neither saw nor heard him – never had and never would. They were a source of pain if they walked through him and so he now tended to avoid them more often than not. But Pitch relied on them as a power source so he supposed he understood the interest the older spirit had in them.

"You're far from nowhere." Pitch commented quietly.

Nowhere was an interesting thing to call a national park. Here, in a place where man did not try to dominate nature and build cities with towers and buildings that reached the sky, the world was at its rawest and most natural form.

"I like the view." He replied easily. "You can't see things like this anywhere else."

Darkness could provide its own kind of beautiful. The stars at night were exceptionally gorgeous and the mystery of the universe made him feel as though nothing mattered at all. In some ways, they provided an escape from the now.

Pitch glanced upwards, solidifying himself as he observed the view with quiet thoughtfulness. The older spirit seemed to be content – and as far as Jack knew, he enjoyed the company that they offered each other. But he wasn't naïve. As friendly and uncomplicated as their relationship was, Jack was aware that some of Pitch's interest was fueled by the streak of darkness he felt that Jack had inside him.

It wasn't even a secret between them. Pitch had admitted it freely on one of the earlier meetings they had between them, when Jack had aggressively demanded to know why he kept coming around.

 _You'll do whatever it takes to survive – you don't mind getting your hands dirty. Not like they do._ He'd said passionately. _Whatever you were_ before _… it's not who you are now. You don't have to play by anyone's rules except your own – there is light inside you, yes. But there is darkness also – and you aren't so single-minded as to be held captive to either one._

It was an attractive idea to not be held to any one standard. For there to be no guidelines to follow or rules to obey. It was… _liberating_ to be in control.

Jack wasn't going to tell Pitch that. But he also suspected that he didn't have.

"How did you find me out here?" He asked after several minutes of silent contemplation.

Out of nowhere it seemed, a hand closed itself around his staff, the section it gripped dimming with shadows. Pitch's eyes glinted intently in the moonlight, ignoring or perhaps not noticing the way Jack stiffened minutely.

"I've become rather good at sensing your presence and your magic acts like a beacon out here. I couldn't help but notice as I was passing by." Pitch replied smoothly, letting go and allowing what little light there was to return.

Jack thought about that for a moment, glancing down briefly at his staff that glowed softly, illuminating the dirt and grass beneath him. "I guess I hadn't thought about that." He admitted, relaxing. "But I think I'll be alright. No one bothers me anymore."

Pitch smirked an unkind smile. "They wouldn't, would they?"

Jack didn't _want_ company. He used to want it – had needed it desperately and was refused _so_ many times for even the most basic form of acknowledgement. And he never truly understood why.

He didn't want it now. It was in large part because he was angry – so very angry at everyone who had ever rejected him and at those who had dared to harm him in ways that he couldn't recover from. But Jack wasn't above admitting that he was also afraid.

His list of social shortcomings had been impressive _before_ but after everything that had happened, it had only expanded and where he once thrived on attention for however short the time, he now recoiled at the very idea. His first instinct wasn't to investigate potential company anymore. It was to make everyone leave and ensure that they never, _ever_ came back. Conversation with anyone other than Pitch was a foreign concept to him – and he only learned to speak to and eventually tolerate him because the bastard always returned no matter what Jack did.

"Well, no one except _you_." Jack amended.

Pitch only smiled in wry amusement. But just a few seconds later, his smile vanished and his body language shifted into something more guarded. The change was small but noticeable enough that Jack felt somewhat wary. "You should know that that might change very soon." Pitch said carefully. His shrewd yellow eyes watched him intently, observing his reaction.

Jack stiffened slightly. "What do you mean?"

"There is a storm coming – a battle that has the potential to change things around here."

"I don't see why that would bring anyone to me."

The darker spirit shrugged. "You're dangerous. Neutral parties can swing either way and others will either want to try and recruit you to their side or ensure that you stay out of the game. In your case, there's really only one available option."

"I don't want trouble." Jack said coldly, even as a familiar, heavy feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. The quiet surroundings he'd enjoyed all evening suddenly seemed oppressive and dangerous – and he could imagine the unseen eyes boring into him as _they_ waited for his moment of weakness so they could drag him back….

 _Screaming. The scent of burning flesh. Wailing and crying and begging for an end to it all. Pain… oh god, the pain…._

Pitch pursed his lips. "Sometimes you don't get to choose." He said quietly, breaking the dangerous train of thought that he'd so quickly fallen back into.

Jack shook his head and released a deep, controlled breath, throwing those horrid thoughts to the back of his mind. "No one tells me what to do." He said shortly.

Pitch raised his hands. "No need to get tense. I was merely passing along the information." The older spirit said simply. He began to fade somewhat and Jack sensed that their conversation was coming to an end. "I would hate to see you put away again simply so others could feel in control."

His breath hitched slightly.

 _No… never again. I am in control! I AM in control!_

Jack hid the sudden tremble in his hands by gripping his staff tighter. "What's this fight about?" He demanded, just as Pitch faded completely from view. Jack spun around in an attempt to see where he'd gone and saw nothing.

"Adieu for now, Jack."

Jack closed his eyes, groaning in irritation. He didn't bother to reply, sensing that the older spirit was long gone. And he had effectively taken Jack's pleasant mood with him.

 _Damn him._ Jack thought savagely, swinging his staff over his head and releasing a chaotic and explosive burst of ice into the night around him. It slammed loudly into something a good distance from him after a few moments, the sound of it like an exploding cannon.

Turning swiftly on his toes, Jack stalked off, abandoning any ideas of a quiet evening.

No one would _dare_ come after him, not unless they had a death wish. He'd made sure that _everyone_ knew – that _everyone_ understood that Jack Frost wasn't going to be _used_ ever again. He wasn't anyone's pawn.

And it would be a very cold day in hell before anyone _"put him away"_ for their own peace of mind.

 _Let them try,_ Jack seethed to himself, launching himself into the sky that he'd admired so much earlier. _And I swear I'll give them a fight the likes of which they've never seen._

* * *

 **A/N** Poor Jack. He's so desperate for control of his life that he can't see a little manipulation happening right in front of him. And Pitch sure doesn't miss a good opportunity when he sees ones. XD

Thanks for reading – and please leave a review if you can. I'd really love some feedback.


	2. Pitch's POV - before chapter one

**A/N** I rather enjoyed the reactions my last update received. There was also some curiosity about Pitch's motives that I couldn't help but want to clarify. Hopefully this is up to standards.

Enjoy!

* * *

Manipulation was a form of art, one that Pitch both admired and excelled at.

It required dedication, patience, and no small amount of intelligence to successfully pull the strings of another person and direct them a certain way without even appearing to do so. The key was to make the person being manipulated think that they went that direction or acted upon something on their own accord. To make sure that that they never felt as though they were actually being used unless that was exactly what you wanted them to feel.

With his latest project, the illusion of free choice had never been more important.

Jack Frost, for all intents and purposes, was balanced precariously on the edge of an emotional precipice. And with his current state of mind being what it was, it didn't take much to push him over the edge.

Pitch had already learned how to do that. He knew exactly what buttons to push in order to get a rise out of the winter spirit. He knew exactly what words to say to cause him to suffer emotional and vivid flashbacks of his time spent in captivity; ones that left him shaking and angry and desperate for tangible evidence that he was in control of his life. And he knew exactly how dangerous and powerful this abused little seasonal was – Pitch had been at the brunt of his explosive anger many times now and he was even willing to admit that their power was very evenly matched.

Fighting Jack was an exhilarating experience – a test of genuine skill. It was a pleasant surprise and he quite enjoyed the challenge, if he were being completely honest with himself.

But it also served as a good motivator. He wanted Jack Frost as an ally, one that he could use and direct – not an enemy. There needed to be trust between them if Pitch had any hope of molding the child into something useful.

Gaining said trust was a lot easier said than done, however. Jack Frost didn't seem to understand the concept of trust anymore – he feared other people above almost everything else. Not even those who Jack had once expressed an interest in getting to know were capable of getting through to the child – his fears were chaotic and jumbled together until all that was left was terrible rage, confusion, and paranoia. Jack was not capable of seeing kindness right now – he only saw possible motives, lies, and people who could hurt him.

Pitch didn't think it would take long for others to just leave him alone to wallow in his misery. The winter spirit was proving to be… rather violent… and the simple fact was that no one actually cared much about him.

Gaining his trust was going to be a very _long_ process. One that would require both time and patience.

 _And it is fortunate indeed_ , Pitch thought as he silently watched the winter spirit from where he hid in the shadows, _that time is all they have_.

The effort would be well worth it in the end, of that he was quite sure. Pitch couldn't care less about what Jack Frost had become. Their world was still buzzing with the news about what had happened to him and while there were some parties that for the moment were expressing concern for his wellbeing, most of them were thinking about how they were going to handle the winter spirit now that he was considered unstable and dangerous, rather than just a nuisance.

Jack didn't need to be handled; the efforts anyone made to do so would be completely wasted and all they would gain was an enemy who had no reason to trust them. They didn't understand, or at the very least they were ignoring what Jack's primary motivations were right now.

Pitch thought it was fairly obvious himself but their stupidity was only his gain and so he saw no reason to point it out to them… even _if_ they were willing to listen to his opinion.

But no. What Jack Frost needed was to feel in control. He needed a sense of freedom, space, and an outlet to release his rage. The boy was keeping to himself, yes, but everyone else on this planet were utter fools if they really thought he didn't know what they were saying about him.

That was something that Pitch had grudgingly come to admire about the child. For he had slowly begun to make himself a regular occurrence in the winter spirit's life – only a few "accidentally" violent encounters and he knew Jack Frost better than anyone. And Jack knew how to make himself scarce… his paranoia was fueling his desire to learn how to disappear entirely _but_ he was not uninformed about what was going on around him. Considering the short amount of time that it had been since he had liberated himself and based off of what information Pitch had been able to gather through observation, Jack Frost was well informed about current events.

At least all the things concerning him, that is.

He was intelligent and now as ruthless as the season he represented was. His experiences had changed him and certainly not for the better. Though perhaps that was a matter of opinion… they had only crossed paths with each other once or twice in the past and until recent events, Pitch did not have much of an opinion about the child. Jack Frost had been forgettable… a random, fleeting thought on a cold day and nothing more than that.

Pitch certainly liked him now though. This angry, broken, and ruthless seasonal was something that he could work with – something that could be molded and shaped into a fierce and loyal ally. Perhaps his efforts would even allow Jack Frost to heal, some, which would ultimately serve them both well… but it was not necessary and Pitch did not expect much. He knew, in the darkest corners of his mind, that what had been done to Jack Frost could never be undone. He could never be the same again. Darkness existed inside him now and his fate – _what he would become_ – would be determined in the coming years and Pitch had every intention of making sure that Jack's path would be most beneficial to his own future goals.

His lips twitched into a faint smile at the idea and he allowed his form to solidify completely.

Jack shoulders immediately tensed and the winter spirit looked up from where he sat staring absently at the ground to glare at him. The air became instantly colder as his pale hands gripped his staff tighter and allowed it to glow blue with his power in clear warning.

He was far from being welcome and yet Pitch couldn't help but chuckle a little. "So much hostility and I haven't even done anything."

"Choď preč, bastard."(1)

"There's no need for name calling." Pitch tsk-ed lightly, strolling a little further into the small clearing of trees. He was mindful not to wander too close and risk Jack attacking him or just fleeing right off the bat. He wasn't interested in starting a fight – fun as they were, he'd only done so in the past to learn the winter spirit's triggers and he'd avoided it ever since then. Pitch even suspected that Jack, clever child that he was, was beginning to realize that and thus they had an unspoken understanding between them.

Jack eyed him with a mixture of anger and suspicion. "…what do you… w-wait…won't?" He swore softly, shaking his head in a show of frustration. "Chcieť!" He snapped. "What do you chciet?"

"The word you're looking for is want." Pitch supplied casually, leaning against a tree and crossing his arms. "And I don't want anything from you. I believe I mentioned that last time."

Jack gave him a baleful look that clearly said he didn't believe him. "Then why come back?" He demanded lowly. "Choď preč! I don't w-want you here."

"I've noticed." Pitch said dryly. "But such is my nature to be unwanted wherever I go and so I go wherever I want regardless of what people think."

Pitch faded just in time to avoid a powerful jet of ice completely obliterate the tree he was leaning against. He reappeared again a few feet away from where he was standing and saw that Jack had risen to his feet as well and was giving him a dirty look.

"Nechaj ma byť."(2) He warned, feet lifting slightly off the ground in preparation of leaving.

Pitch pointed a finger at him. "Before you leave," He offered slowly, quietly pleased when Jack paused, obviously listening. "There will be a more organized effort to get your attention in a few days from a group who is… shall we say, concerned about your behavior."

Jack's blue eyes were cold at the thought. "…kol'ko?"(3) He bit out reluctantly, obviously loathing to ask Pitch anything.

"Six or seven, I imagine."

The winter spirit nodded once very stiffly and then left quickly in a whirlwind of ice and snow.

Pitch watched him disappear with a pleased smirk.

It had been a long time since he had wanted something as much as he wanted Jack Frost at his side. They were far too similar and had too much in common for them to just ignore one another – Jack would realize that sometime in the future, he hoped – and when he did, Pitch would consider all of his efforts in gaining his trust well spent.

 _The things that they could accomplish together… just the idea was intoxicating_ , Pitch thought as he breathed in the cool night air.

It would be years down the road, decades even before those things could come to pass. But they would eventually – though their interaction tonight was short, as they all were, it was proof enough that it was all possible.

Patience was a great virtue.

* * *

 **A/N** So there you have it. I'm not sure if this is entirely up to par with the last chapter but… I made the effort, which is kind of amazing for me.

Just in case it wasn't clear – Pitch _does_ like Jack. In the first chapter especially, they are actually friends. I originally titled that document as _pbjf being bff's_. But Pitch is not above using him and he pokes Jack in certain directions or ways of thinking without him even realizing it.

The language Jack was occasionally speaking in was Slovak. He hasn't used English in a very long time and doesn't remember all the words.

(1) "Go away."

(2) "Leave me alone."

(3) "How many?"

One last thing – Jack was _not_ taken by summer spirits. That is so cliché and overused, it's almost disgusting. His "big bad" is called Likho. One dude. If I have time after I finish some other projects, I might flesh him out a bit more.

Until then, ciao!


End file.
